Skip to main content


Showing posts from December, 2018

#StoryIn12 - December

Every day,  the #StoryIn12 flash fiction meme on twitter challenges writers to write a “complete” story in exactly 12 words, that includes the prompt word for that day. #StoryIn12 is the creation of t Molly (aka @mollysdailykiss ) and Wriggly Kitty (aka @Wriggly_Kitty ) Here are mine for this month: Winter  – Snuggled in front of the fire, sheltered from the chill of winter. Bump  – Sometimes, things going bump in the night can be fun, not scary. Blue  – Some days blue is more of an emotional state than a colour. Method  – His method was simple and direct, but it achieved the desired results. Ocean – Although there was an ocean between them, somehow they would be together. Forecast  – The weekend forecast was atrocious. Another good reason to stay in bed. Length – In her opinion, width was a much more important measurement than length. Inspiration  – I was lacking inspiration so I almost gave this prompt a miss. Party  – The party season was in full swing. What c

Claiming Jane

Claiming Jane by Kilted Wookie Jane assumes the required position; bent over with her skirt flipped up over her back and her  knickers around her ankles. Her cunt is wet. The anticipation builds her arousal. My finger trails over her arse. A shiver runs up her spine. My hand slaps down. Jane’s skin smarts at my touch. Again and again; my hand rains down on Jane’s upturned arse. Her cunt grows wetter with every slap. I  can almost feel the heat spread across Jane’s soft cheeks. It stings; a delicious tingling of pain that makes her catch her breath. Her face reddens, tears rise in Jane’s eyes. Each strike of my hand creates a wonderful juxtaposition of pain and pleasure. I slide a finger between the lips of Jane’s cunt; feeling her warmth, testing her wetness. My hands grip her hips. A soft moan escapes from between Jane’s lips. Moments pass; an eternity of anticipation. I feel her brace herself as my fingers tighten their grip, digging deeper into her flesh. W


Splash by Kilted Wookie She kneels before him; mouth open, expectant like a hungry chick. He stands before her; his cock hard, the head, a swollen, angry purple. She knew she had been bad; some unknown transgression against him. Her arse still stung from the kiss of his belt. Now, as their guests look on, he intends to humiliate her. She waits as he works his fingers up and down his cock with long, slow, majestic strokes; each one bringing her ever closer to the moment of her humiliation. “Worthless slut!” he growls. The tension in his voice betrays how close he is. “Filthy little slut!” Her cunt grows hot and wet. She squirms uncomfortably against the ropes that bind her wrists to her ankles, feeling them dig roughly into her skin as her movements cause the knots to tighten. She waits willingly for her humiliation; for him to show their guests just what a worthless filthy slut she is; to demonstrate his contempt for whatever she has done to displease him. His co

It's Not All About Intercourse

I’ve never had a sexual relationship where intercourse wasn’t (ultimately) the predominant sexual activity that was undertaken. That “ultimately” is in there because there is one very slight technical exception to that) rule; that being what was my first sexual relationship. When I say that, it’s not that the girl in question and I didn’t have sexual intercourse, we did; it’s just that we built up to it gradually, exploring each other’s bodies with fingers, lips and tongues before, many months later, discarding our virginities together. In that respect, it started off as a “hands-only” sexual relationship. We moved from simply snogging to hands on top of clothes, to hands under clothes and, ultimately, the removal of clothes. The very first time she brought me orgasm was by rubbing me through my boxer shorts. That was a very important stage of my sexual education; learning to touch, learning how I liked to be touched and, above all, learning how to communicate what I liked a

A Matter Of Style

It may come as a surprise, but I do actually wear clothes.  Being a native of a cold climate and generally having to interact with my fellow humans means that one simply cannot be naked at all times. If I have any sense of style at all, it could probably best be described as casual, or maybe even relaxed. The simple fact is, I dress for comfort. There are times when comfort can mean naked but, for the purposes of this post, we’re going to stick (sadly perhaps) with clothes on. At work, I tend to go with the “traditional” business formal: suit trousers, smart shirt, jacket when necessary, Oxfords not brogues. At home, I am much more casual: jeans and a polo/rugby shirt depending on the time of year and the temperature. In summer the jeans may, weather permitting, be replaced with shorts. Being Scottish, I will, of course, look for any excuse to “kilt up“; most often when formal attire is required, but it can be worn informally too. I’ve never really been a follower of fashion. As